A/N: Wow. This is the longest I've ever continued one story on this site. Everyone's good reviews have been helpful in aiding me to continue! Thanks!
Here's Chapter 6! Hope ya'll like it!
*Miranda is going to seem very out of character for the majority of the rest of this story. I meant for it to be this way though, so, yeah.
Miranda's P.O.V
I sat in my room, looking in the mirror, making sure I looked decent enough to be seen in school. I sighed. No matter what I did with my hair, my make-up, I just wasn't happy with my appearance. I mean, why couldn't I have blonde hair and blue eyes like Lizzie's? Maybe then at least SOME guy would be interested in being with me. I'm just not good enough for anybody. And I probably never will be.
*Later*
Lizzie sat beside me at our lunch table, picking at her food. She did not look happy. Personally, in my opinion, I thought she had every reason in the world to be happy. She had lots of guys who'd give up almost anything to go out with her, and she's pretty, and over all, she's a very cool person… even if she does have her clumsy moments.
"What's wrong?", I asked, trying to put some emotion into my voice so it would sound like I actually cared.
She shook her head. "No. It's not important." She tried to give me a smile, but I could see it was forced.
I shrugged. "Alright. Be that way. I could care less." More than a little harsh, I know, but seriously, what the heck could be this wrong with her to make her this upset? She has everything going for her.
Her eyes widened. It was a funny sight. Obviously, she was surprised at my behavior. "Miranda? I don't think we should be worrying about what's wrong with me…. I think we should be worried about what YOUR problem is."
I smirked. "MY problem? Whatever."
"I really don't understand. You seemed just fine this morning. What the hell happened?"
Lizzie? Cursing? Now this was something else.
"I'm leaving. I don't want to put up with your shit anymore!" With that, I got up and left.
*Later at home*
I sat in my room once again, bawling my eyes out. I was SO ugly. Why couldn't I be pretty? I hated my body and looks more than I hated Kate Sanders, and let me tell you, that's a lot of hate.
Shakily, I stood up, and made my way to the bathroom. I opened the medicine cabinet, looking for some of my mom's make-up. Maybe that would make me look somewhat better. That's when I saw IT. What did I see you ask?
I saw a newly opened pack of razor blades. I glanced at them, then at my wrists, and back at the razor blades. Maybe, I could take my anger out on my body. I could punish it for being so damn ugly. A smile made its way across my face. I locked the bathroom door, and took one of the razor blades out of the pack, and examined it. It was sleek, smooth, shiny, and sharp. I didn't want to KILL myself right off the bat, so I decided cutting my wrists wouldn't be a good idea. So, I found a spot on the inside of my forearm, and pressed the blade against it, and dragged it slowly across my flesh. The skin split, and bled. I closed my eyes and relished in the feeling. I repeated the process on the other forearm, and decided to quit for now. I smiled, and took two more razor blades from the pack. I was smiling. I had just found my new best friend.